


Tempered Plastic

by saltslimes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, more of the usual, poison or something i guess, thank u kaciart for my lyfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: Prompto has a higher pain tolerance than his companions anticipated. So that goes about as well as can be expected.





	Tempered Plastic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> Guess what its a birthday! Kaciart's to be specific so I broke my no-fanfic-please-do-your-work rule and finished this thing, based of course on one of her lovely [comics](http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/174284237383) <3

Most polymers are heat sensitive. Many plastics denature under heat. Some of them melt and reform. Some of them degrade and burn. What does this tell us about the nature of that which is artificial? Well, nothing, really. Whatever we want it to.

 

It might surprise his fellow travelling companions to learn that bugs are actually not the thing Prompto hates most about dungeons. There’s no love lost between him and all things with more than four legs, but he doesn’t consider them to be the worst part. And although he’s complained most vocally about it, it’s not the damp, or the cold, or even the cramped spaces. It’s sort of all of those things together. 

More than that, no matter how he tries to get used to it, no matter how he tries to fight through the fear that gnaws at his spinal column, they always reach a point--could be in the mouth of a cave or could be what feels like miles underground--where he gets this striking sense of finality. And then he can’t shake the thought, can’t do anything to dispel the idea that they won’t see the surface again. That they have stepped over some invisible line from which there will be no return.

It’s hard to avoid thinking like that when destiny is pressing down on the hearts and souls of your friends--your best friend specifically. Prompto tries not to think at all (especially in a dungeon) because as soon as his mind drifts to “hey, is it safe to inhale mold?” he’s not coming back. Instead he just keeps up a stream of commentary, despite the glares and occasional reproachful tones he gets from Gladio and Ignis.

Noct likes it, even if he doesn’t say. He’s more relaxed when he gets to play the straight man. So Prompto rambles. He rambles through the slow descent into the hell that is the long and winding cave and he rambles when the goblins show up, and then all he has to think about is not shooting anything he’s not supposed to, so things get much simpler.

Right up until the ceiling caves in. Prompto didn’t see what happened, one minute he was aiming for a goblin and the next minute he heard Ignis shout “ _ Duck _ !” and saw Noct warp out of the way of a massive chunk of rock. Ignis and Noctis were on the far side, near the entrance. He and Gladio were pressed up in the back of the cavern, with Gladio moved back to take a wide swing and Prompto backed against the wall trying to get good sights.

So the rocks came down between them, effectively trapping him and Gladio in place. Prompto blinked in the sudden dark as Gladio swore softly. There was a rustling noise, like he was fumbling for something. And then light.

“Fall knocked my light off. Yours?”

Right. Of course. Prompto felt along the ground for it. Gladio shone the light first directly in his eyes (thanks big guy) and then down around the dirt. They found the light pretty easily. It was in pieces.

“Great. Cool. Totally awesome,” Prompto whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know, aftershocks or something.”

“One of the goblins knocked a spell the wrong way. Aftershocks are for earthquakes.” Gladio was already on his feet, feeling along the wall of huge rocks dividing them from Noct and Ignis.

“Oh, suddenly you’re a meteorologist, huh?” Prompto got to his feet too. His hands were scraped, but he seemed otherwise no worse for wear. He tried to subtly inspect Gladio for injuries. Luckily it was dark for Gladio to catch him looking, although that also made injury-detection a lot harder.

“That would be geologist, I think. Meteorologists predict the weather.” 

“O-kay, humble resident genius Gladio, got any idea what we should  _ do _ ?”

“Get out.”

“Helpful.”

“Well you asked. Ignis! Noct!” Gladio’s shout was loud enough that it made Prompto’s ears ring but it either never reached the other side or the response was too quiet to hear. Or the chosen king and his trusted advisor were crushed under a pile of rocks dead--no, nope. Prompto took that whole train of thought and dumped it in the garbage.

“Noct!” Gladio roared. Prompto laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Just--cool it for a second, okay big guy? If they’re trying to respond we won’t even hear them.” So they stood in silence (and relative darkness) for a long moment. There  _ was _ a sound from the other side, a soft tapping, almost like metal on stone. It seemed distant and small. More noticable was a soft hissing from behind them, a sound like steam escaping a vent.

“Hey you hear that?” Gladio whispered. Then he coughed. “Fuck, you smell that?”

Whatever it was, it was sickly sweet, a cloying scent that clung to Prompto’s palate.

“That seems… not normal for a cave…” Prompto squinted around in the dark for a source--he felt along the wall. Moss, and then something drippy-- “Gladio! Light, over here!”

Gladio swung the flashlight round to point at the strip of wall Prompto had his hand pressed to. He peeled it away immediately. “Oh, yuck.” There was an outcropping of translucent fungus along the wall, some of which seemed to be actively leaking a mist of milky spores into the air. 

Gladio shoved Prompto back towards the cave in. He gasped, and then regretted it. Gladio clapped a hand over his own mouth, and locked eyes with Prompto. They managed to convey what needed to be conveyed without speaking, and more importantly, without breathing.

Prompto held out a hand for the light. They had a silent debate using only their eyes that lasted, to Prompto’s mind, six hours. It was in fact 41 seconds exactly. Gladio handed the light over. In the moment where they were both illuminated, Prompto could see a thin sheen of sweat had broken out over Gladio’s chest and forehead. And his own hands were shaking. So whatever they did, they needed to do it quick. And they needed to take as few breaths as possible while they went about doing it. 

Prompto scanned the rocks, testing with quick taps to see which were loose. The far right side was weak. He nudged Gladio and indicated. Light flared as Gladio summoned his sword into the cramped space. Prompto backed up against the wall to give him space and light.

“Here goes nothing,” Gladio grumbled, and took a heavy swing. The crash was deafening. But they weren’t free, and Gladio was heaving in another lungful of air. Prompto felt like his chest was exploding.

“Aim high. We can at least get clean air,” he instructed. Gladio grunted his assent and took a second swing. Prompto’s ears were ringing, but the rock came free. And then Gladio was up, shoving more rocks out of place, and Prompto pulled him back and decided to do something really next level stupid.

Gladio stumbled back in shock and Prompto shoved himself into the open space, thrust his arms out and summoned the gravity well from the armiger. He took a second to spot Ignis and Noct--they were on the other side of the rock fall, alive and staring in astonishment, but Prompto saw Ignis already moving back and starting to signal to Noct.

He lined the shot up fast, and a little sloppy, because he could hear Gladio gasping behind him. He fired. The recoil knocked him back, wrenching his shoulder, and he had to duck down. But it had the desired effect. The rock wall dividing them from the rest of the cavern tore away.

“Gladio! Prom!” Prompto managed to make out. And then Gladio was hauling him to his feet.

“We gotta move,” he roared. “Go, go.” Prompto staggered a step forward, but then regained his balance. Ignis and Noctis reluctantly ran for the exit, and Prompto and Gladio followed. Up ahead, the others got out without issue, but Gladio staggered in the entrance and had to cling onto the wall of the mouth of the cave.

Prompto moved to hold him up and immediately sagged under his weight. He couldn’t draw a whole breath, but Gladio was listing to the side. If he fell here he could hit his head or break something and they were way too short on potions to allow that.

“Little help!” Prompto cried out, and Noct spun around with wide eyes, and then warped back up to the cave to help him carry Gladio out.

They took a few moments to regroup.

“Some sort of toxin, certainly. Could be magical in origin,” Ignis mused, inspecting Prompto’s hand where he’d touched the fungus. The skin was bubbling. 

“How are we doing on curatives?” Gladio wheezed.

“Not… ideal.” Ignis spared Prompto a sideways glance, and then his eyes slid back to Gladio. “Noctis?”

“Two potions and one remedy. What do we do?” he was biting his lip. Prompto watched Gladio leaning on the Regalia. He looked like he was about to keel over for real, held up by nothing but pride and stubbornness. 

“Prompto needs a potion to deal with his hand. Gladio you should use one too for that cut, it looks painful.” Ignis said this with a sort of inarguable finality. Noct handed Prom a potion and then passed one off to Ignis to pour over the sluggishly bleeding cut on Gladio’s forehead--Prompto hadn’t been able to make it out in the dark when they were trapped, but it  _ did _ look painful.

He crushed the potion in his bad hand and watched the blisters fade into a layer of clean fresh skin. He sighed, and the air burned on the way in and the way out. It put him in mind of the time he got pneumonia in high school and had to spend a whole week dodging Noct’s texts and debating whether he should call his parents. In the end he just slept for twenty hours and woke up more or less healthy.

Probably could take the same course of action here, he figured. But Gladio was clutching the side of the Regalia, gasping for air.

“Shit, he needs that remedy,” Prompto said.

“Yeah,” Noctis said, pulling it out and passing it over. “Try to drink it, it’ll work faster,” he said. Gladio downed it in two gulps and then choked and coughed so hard that Noctis and Ignis both took an arm to brace him.

“I think now would be the ideal time to get going,” Ignis said flatly. He helped Gladio into the back and Noctis climbed in beside him. Prompto gritted his teeth to keep from coughing, but the need passed pretty quickly, settling into a twinge in his chest. Easy enough to ignore. He squirmed in his seat, watching Gladio breathe through the pain. He must have needed more breath to swing that sword. If Prompto had thought of what to do sooner, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“We can’t afford a hotel, can we?” Noctis asked, as Ignis was pulling ahead of another car.

“It’ll be all our money. The two of us will have to pick up another hunt. Something small.”

“And what? We just sit around?” Gladio said. Prompto didn’t envy the look Ignis fixed him with in the rearview mirror.

“You  _ rest _ and  _ recover _ .”

“It’s not like Specs and I can’t handle one hunt. And we’re not going anywhere without the shield,” Noctis said. Prompto couldn’t help but snort at Gladio’s sour expression. “And our comic-relief.”

“Hey. Gunner,” Prompto said, but he was happy for the way the tension had already fled the conversation.

“If you say so,” Gladio said.

“No reason I can’t be both,” Prompto said. The last word came out a little forced. It felt a bit like his ribs were shrinking each time he spoke. He watched Gladio in the rearview mirror--he seemed drained of energy. When they checked in to the hotel and got up to bed, he passed out almost immediately.

“We’ll head out in the morning,” Ignis said softly, unlacing his shoes while perched on the end of the other bed. Prompto leaned more deeply into the pillows, but he didn’t feel particularly tired. The stimulating effects of the potion were still clinging a little. Noctis came over to sit on the end of the bed near Gladio’s feet and flipped through Prompto’s pictures, turning the camera to show him ones he thought were good.

At some point Ignis declared it past any hour they should be awake and insisted they shut the lights off.

Prompto lay awake in the dark for a little while watching a single strip of moonlight make a slow progress across the far wall.

And then he woke up and Gladio was shaking. Prompto searched for him in the bed before opening his eyes. He found broad shoulders, back muscles tensed like a brick wall.

“What’s wrong? It hurts?” he whispered. Gladio made a sound like someone working very hard not to whimper, and Prompto’s heart twisted in his chest. He couldn’t have thought faster, huh? Couldn’t have been more help. They’d been trapped the same length of time but somehow Gladio had taken the brunt of the damage.

“Wait here,” Prompto whispered, and slid out of the bed. The room was barely cool--nowhere near cold but the slightest shift of his t-shirt against his back felt like the skin was lightly peeling. Like the worst sunburn ever, give or take. Prompto tensed his shoulder blades and then forced the muscles lax. 

He washed his hands out of idle muscle memory, ran the water first hotter than he could stand and then cold until condensation beaded on the tap. Then he soaked and wrung out the towel and returned to the room. Gladio had his hands fisted in the sheets, brow furrowed in pain. Prompto touched his hand to alert him to his presence before laying the towel across his bare chest. Gladio’s eyes cracked open.

“Sometimes a distraction is as good as a painkiller,” Prompto whispered. Gladio groaned softly. But in a few minutes his hands relaxed. Prompto listened to his breathing even out (as much as it could).

He didn’t fall asleep again.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/

Noctis and Ignis headed out in the morning.

“You can call us at any time if there’s an issue.” Ignis assured Gladio, who was hunched over the side of the bed insisting he was okay. He relented after a particularly stern look from Ignis.

“You are convincing no one,” he added, adjusting his glasses. Gladio let out a sigh that turned into a cough. Prompto had been sitting in the chair on the other side of the room for the last ten minutes or so. He was drifting, not out of consciousness but certainly away from alertness. 

“You’ll keep an eye on him, right?” This request from Noctis startled him out of the haze.

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Okay. We only need enough for like, two more nights probably, so it shouldn’t be too bad. We’ll pick up an easy hunt and be back before you know it.”

“Yes, that is the plan that I just laid out in painstaking detail but thank you for the cliff notes edition,” Ignis said.

“Hey, Noct knows I’m all about the cliff notes. Gimme the abridged version any day,” Prompto said. Ignis’ glare was loving.

And then they headed out, and Gladio went back to sleep, and he was alone. An empty hotel room is so much emptier than say, a bedroom, or an apartment, or even a street at night. The silence that descended was so ugly and tangible that Prompto climbed into bed beside Gladio just so that he could hear his pained breathing. He felt sort of terrible taking comfort in the sound of his friend struggling. But he reasoned that it was the sound of Gladio being alive.

They made it to the surface, back over the invisible line that Prompto imagined they couldn’t cross twice.

He drifted to sleep and woke up to the sound of muffled whimpering. He turned over in the bed, seeking out Gladio’s shuddering form.

“You okay? Big guy?” he breathed, squinting into the dark. His chest was a lot tighter. It was like his lungs were full of molasses. Gladio growled like a wounded animal. He was propped up on the pillows, muscles spasming with pain, seemingly refusing to breathe. Prompto quickly pushed himself up into a sitting position and put a hand on Gladio’s arm.

“You gotta breathe, okay? Trust me, this only makes it worse.”  There was something unpleasant about seeing Gladio raw like this. It was like being in a room where one edge of the carpet is turned over. The thing that made it worse was how much Gladio clearly didn’t want to be seen like this.

When his breathing started to even out to match Prom’s, Gladio was finally able to speak.

“Feels like my chest is fulla rocks,” he ground out. Prompto almost laughed, not really because he found the situation humorous but more because laughter is a breaking response, like crying.

“I’ll make some tea, how about?” Prompto said.

“Mmm. Okay.” Gladio sank further into the pillows. 

In the kitchen, sound and color faded vaguely, and Prompto stood watching the kettle without really seeing it for a while. Light spiraled and fizzed in front of him. He blinked hard and it slowly resolved itself. The kettle clicked as the switch popped up. 

Gladio was half asleep when Prompto came back, but he accepted the steaming mug gratefully. Somewhere in the blankets one of their phones was buzzing, so Prompto dug it out. It was Gladio’s, but the text was to the group chat so it hardly mattered.

“Iggy’s trying to ask about us without sounding worried.”

“We’re fine,” Gladio grumbled. He didn’t do anything to stop Prompto.

[PRINCE CRYBABY] Ignis is pretending not to be stressed like acting all casual at this gas station

[PRINCE CRYBABY] But he’s obviously stressed as hell

[No Fun Allowed] That’s an exaggeration.

[No Fun Allowed] But what is your status currently?

[Dadio] gladio’s napping

[Dadio] nothing to do here

[Dadio] im bored x10000

[PRINCE CRYBABY] Yup, he’s same as usual

[No Fun Allowed] Pleased to see that.

[Gladiolus Amicitia has changed his nickname to “No Fun Allowed 2: Bigger and Badder”]

[PRINCE CRYBABY] Gladio’s gonna kick ur ass when he sees

[No Fun Allowed 2: Bigger and Badder] heh

“What are you laughing about over there?” Gladio was glaring, but glaring with your legs in a blanket and a steaming mug of tea cupped in both hands lacks some of the power Gladio’s looks usually have.

“Nothing. Normal texts. I told them we’re fine.”

“Hmm. Wake me up if anything happens.”

“What like the hotel catches fire? Haven’t we exhausted our bad luck at this point?”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Prompto’s always envied Noct’s ability to sit down and immediately fall asleep (and on one memorable occasion in gym class, remain standing and immediately fall asleep). But seemingly when exhausted by reduced lung volume, Gladio also gains this super power.

He lay back in the bed but he couldn’t stop cycling through horrible, super clear images of what Noctis and Ignis could be doing--or rather, ways in which they might currently be dying. And meanwhile he was stuck in a bed, useless. Barely even helping Gladio. 

What was there left to do? He could get another damp towel, but not until Gladio was awake. He went into the little kitchenette and drummed his fingers on the countertop aimlessly. Back out into the room. In the bathroom he ran a hand through his moderately greasy hair (still holding its style well enough) and inspected his own face. Too many freckles. Slightly sunburned nose. The bags under his eyes weren’t new, but they did look worse.

His shirt (peeled off semi-hastily when they arrived) was damp and discarded in the sink. The rest of their clothes were in the tub. Ignis would come back from the hunt and wash them. When was  _ he _ going to rest? And they were out there with no backup and no curatives.

The nice thing about laundry is you can just do it. There’s very little thinking involved. So Prompto knelt down beside the tub and started scrubbing their clothes clean. A few minutes it it prickled his skin, so he turned the water a little cooler. But it didn’t go away. He thought about going out to the room to dig through their things for the gloves Ignis used for scrubbing dishes. But getting poison on them seemed like a bad idea or at the least impolite.

Mid way through his stomach roiled unpleasantly and he felt something crawling up his throat, but it was easy to just flip up the toilet lid and cough some crumbly brown vomit into the bowl. He sat heaving for a moment, snot dripping from his nose, listening for any sound that would suggest he’d woken Gladio.

But there was nothing.

/+/+/+/+/+/+/

Noctis generally found the term “dead on his feet” a little hyperbolic, but that was about how he felt stumbling through the door of the hotel. Gladio was sitting up in bed with a novel propped on his legs. He looked up and grinned, and then offered a relaxed wave.

“You look better,” Noctis said.

“Yes, good to see you awake and alert,” Ignis added, stripping his gloves off and running a hand through his hair. 

“Where’s Prom?”

“He’s in the kitchen. Making tea I think.” Gladio closed the book. “How’d the hunt go?”

“Fine. Boring.” Noctis shed his top layer of clothing on his way to the kitchen.

“Not on the floor please,” Ignis called after him, looking more than askance at the discarded vest.

“Hey Prom, what’s up?” He found Prompto immediately after entering the kitchen. He was standing over the table stripping his gun for cleaning. One of Gladio’s swords was out too, half-polished.

“Just maintenance. The hunt go okay?” Prompto asked. He didn’t look up from the gun and still managed to fumble one of the pieces. It bounced across the floor. Noctis scooped it up and deposited it with the rest of the gun. It was somewhere in that movement that color in the sink attracted his eye. “Thanks,” Prompto said absently. Noctis took a step towards the sink. He glanced at Prompto, and then through into the room. Gladio had returned to his book. He had color in his cheeks again.

“Hey Prom, quick question,” Noctis said.

“Huh?”

“Is this blood?”

“Is what blood?”

“In the sink. Is the sink coated in blood? Would love an explanation for that.” He didn’t get one. Instead he got Prompto frowning at him like he was crazy for even bringing it up. That or he was thinking.

“There’s what in the sink?” Gladio called.

“I have to finish the weapons,” Prompto said weakly.

“ _ Dude _ .” And right then was where Prompto’s legs gave out. He just… melted forward like plastic under a blowtorch. “Fuck! Iggy?” Noctis cried, jumping forward to catch Prom. He didn’t exactly succeed because they both ended up on the floor but he did slow Prompto’s descent enough to keep his skull from having an unfortunate encounter with the floor.

“What on Eos--”

“Help me get him up.” Between the two of them it was easy enough to get Prompto from the kitchen to a bed. Gladio was sitting on the edge of his, book discarded among the blankets somehow.

“What the hell happened? He was fine a minute ago.”

“Evidently not,” Ignis said. Prompto was already coming around, to Noct’s unlimited relief. He cracked one eye open. “I’ll leave this situation in your hands for a just a moment,” Ignis said, grabbing the car keys off the table by the door. 

“Prom? You awake? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, you’re yelling buddy.”

“Sure but you just fainted in the kitchen so I think I’m within my rights.”

“Sorry. I didn’t… sorry.”

“Don’t--I’m not mad, okay? You scared the shit out of me.” Noctis dropped down to sit on the side of the bed. He felt like a washcloth that had just been wrung out. Prompto sat up and then braced his head in his hand.

“Urgh.”

“This whole time, you were in pain? Why didn’t you say anything.” Gladio was standing in the intermediate space between the two beds. No-man’s land, Prompto called it on occasion. Prompto looked up at him wearily and offered barely a shrug.

“I don’t know. I’ve had worse. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Seriously?” Gladio snapped. He sounded like he wanted to hit something. Or kick something. If they were on the campsite Noct would fear for the lives of their folding chairs. As it was, Gladio just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists uselessly. 

“Hey, okay. Let’s all calm down. Gladio, you can go ahead and stand down. And literally sit down. Prom, I’m gonna--I’ll get you a water. Don’t do anything or go anywhere.”

Washing the blood down the sink didn’t feel as therapeutic as Noctis had imagined it would in the few seconds between deciding to do it and arriving at the sink. Gladio was sitting on the edge of the bed when he got back, and Prompto had slumped back down onto his side. He was gazing listlessly at empty space.

“What hurts the worst?” Noctis asked.

“Nothing. I just feel tired is all. I guess my back is kind of sore.”

For a fleeting second, Noct didn’t want to look. But that notion was overpowered by, well, mostly fear. He tugged up the back of Prompto’s loose shirt and his guts turned to ice. Noctis had, at least in passing, heard the term “weeping sores” but he’d never been able to put an image (or even a concept, honestly) to it until that point.

“Fuck,” he said. And then he went out into the hall and called Ignis. No response. So he chewed his nails in the hall for a minute and then came back in. Prompto was still laying on his side, glass of water in a loose grip, staring at the skirt of the other bed. Gladio was still watching him with useless fervor.

At a loss, Noctis dropped down beside Prompto and just started running a hand through his hair. Ten minutes later Ignis came through the door with a remedy, and he might as well have been a literal gods-damned knight in gods-damned shining armor.

The remedy didn’t do anything particularly noticeable, but Prompto seemed to breathe a little better. Noctis fished an energy drink out of the armiger and rolled it between his hands until it burned and hummed with magic. It didn’t erase the sores like it would for small cuts and fresh injuries. But they receded a little, scabbed faster, quit bleeding and leaking. 

He tuned into the soft conversation that Gladio and Ignis were having.

“He said it barely hurt. He said he’s had  _ worse _ .”

“Not a wonderful thing to hear. Rather upsetting, actually.”

“Guys,” Noctis hissed, jabbing a finger to indicate Prompto’s sleeping form. “Just. Have this discussion later. Let him sleep.” 

“Of course. You’re quite right, Noct.”

The silence was awkward, but then it melted into companionable. Noctis fell asleep with the lights on and woke up in the dark. For a moment, he didn’t know what had woken him. He turned over and saw Prompto, awake, staring at the ceiling.

“You okay?” Noct whispered.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Can you… get better at that? Please?”

“At what?” Prompto was looking at him with genuine concern and bewilderment. 

“At figuring out if you’re hurt. Because, just. I know I’m young but my heart can’t take this.”

Prompto half-laughed.

“I’m not kidding man. My heart will explode.”

“Okay. Sorry. You guys are always saying I tell you about every little papercut.”

“Because you do but--but!” There weren’t words. Not good ones anyways. Noctis pulled Prompto into his arms instead. For a moment, he was stiff like he was caught off guard, and it dawned on Noctis that it had been a while, longer than seemed right or fair, since he’d hugged Prompto. He sank his face into chocobo-blond hair and pressed a kiss to the top of Prom’s head. And when he straightened up Prompto’s hand was fisted in his shirt, gripping tight, as if death was the alternative.

So Noctis dipped his head and kissed him a second time.

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal gratitude to my very powerful beta [avarii](http://avarii.tumblr.com/) and also to [indri](https://indridasontheunicorn.tumblr.com/) who gave further edits, bless u both and sorry this took 1000 years to finish i got very distracted in the middle


End file.
